


if you loved me, apollo

by bareunloveliness



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Explained more in notes, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Light Angst, M/M, Nobody is Dead, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:28:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27458779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bareunloveliness/pseuds/bareunloveliness
Summary: "I've loved you ever since I've known you Apollo," Grantaire admitted, as if on cue. It was one thing to confess love, but another to confess a lifetime of it. "I couldn't help it- I tried. I didn't - I didn't want to. You were so horrible to me, and I've tried to show you what I felt and you wouldn't let me."The Laurie x Jo scene from Little Women but rewritten to be about ExR.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	if you loved me, apollo

**Author's Note:**

> If you know Little Women, you know this doesn't end well, but it doesn't end in like, death. Though Grantaire does say something about rather being shot.  
> All alcoholism is in the past- Grantaire drinks, but in a controlled manner, but there is an implied relapse.
> 
> once again i am trying to kick nanowrimo's ass

The pair of them sat in the field, watching the festivities from a distance. How grand it was for Marius and Cosette to have their big white wedding, paid for by Monsieur Fauchelvent's generous pockets. He wanted nothing but the best for his daughter, and if that meant accepting another man into their life, he resigned to agree. Grantaire had elected to dress the part, in a three piece suit, though he had long discarded the jacket and his cravat hung loosely around his neck. He nursed a bottle of wine, but was no more drunk than the average guest. Enjolras had a glass of champagne before accepting that was more than enough for one night, simply because he did not understand the appeal of forgetting oneself.

"Marius married, Courfeyrac off to America, and now that you've finally finished your own studies, I'm sure you'll be leaving Paris soon enough," Enjolras commented, willing to exchange more than a few words with the other as they watched the sun lower its great body in the distance. "I'm not good like Combefee. I'm angry and restless and I will stay here and- and fume, I suppose."

Grantaire paused, not wanting to ruin Enjolras' rambling fun with his somber tone. "You don't have to stay here." He spoke plainly, keeping his confession on the tip of his tongue.

"Why?" Enjolras held his tongue between his teeth, playful and resolved to joy. "Should we run off and join a pirate ship? Start a revolution? Overthrow a monarchy?"

Grantaire just looked at him. He remembered every shape on his face, the way his nose angled out with an indescribable pride, the way his cheeks dug under his blonde curls, and the way that he still looked years younger than he was. Grantaire has to take in his appearance, in the horrible fear that he might run away- especially if he could not hold his tongue any longer. 

But there was a loving, tender trouble in Grantaire's eyes that sold him out.

"No, R, please, don't-" Enjolras said, but the words cannot help but tumble out of the artist's split lips. He'd been holding them back for years, like tears in his grateful eyes, and they have been longing for escape into the summer air like a child in the winter.

That said, Grantaire did not cry. It was one thing to be vulnerable, and it was another thing to cry. "It's no use, Apollo; we've got to have it out. We have to-"

"No, no, we don't-" Enjolras knows that his words will be biting and menacing and after years of hurting Grantaire, that is the last thing he wants to do. It had taken a lifetime for them to care for each other, and Enjolras did not want Grantaire to ruin it now.

What can he say? Grantaire's middle name was 'Self-Sabotage'.

"I've loved you ever since I've known you Apollo," Grantaire admitted, as if on cue. It was one thing to confess love, but another to confess a lifetime of it. "I couldn't help it- I tried. I didn't - I didn't want to. You were so horrible to me, and I've tried to show you what I felt and you wouldn't let me."

"I-"  
"Now, I'm going to make you hear. And make you give me an answer. Please. I can't go on like this any longer. A rejection would be a swifter death than the slow poison of holding this in my heart. So say it."

"I wanted to save you from any death, any ache- I thought you'd understand," Enjolras said, eyes wet but not threatening to spill. He saw the situation as an unfortunate unspoken understanding. He saw what he wanted to see; a casual affection and not an unyielding, all-consuming love.

"I've worked hard to pleasure you; I gave up dominos and everything you didn't like, I've drank far less than I did in our days at the Musain." This was true enough- at the expense of having to face his own demons, Grantaire had pulled back on his absinthe and stout and focused exclusively on slowly nursing wine- he hadn't even finished half of a bottle through the entire ceremony. It was great progress for a drunkard to find adoration for something other than drink. "I've waited and never complained on the hope, the chance, the roll of the dice, that perhaps you might one day learn to love me. I know it is a hard task, as I am not half good enough-"

"No, Grantaire, you must not say things like that. I never wanted you to feel like I would learn to love- that you were hard to love- though I must admit that I do not…" He trailed off, realizing that yes, Grantaire had started to cry. Enjolras reached for his hand and held it between his, gentle and kind, guilt resurfacing of how they once treated each other. It was treacherous for the leader of a new republic to scorn a fellow man and to debase him as he once did, and he carried that on his shoulders every day that passed. Even now, he could not ask for forgiveness, as he did not believe he was deserving. He was not entirely wrong in this respect. "I'm so grateful to you and so proud of you. Grantaire, I cannot love you as you want me to."

Grantaire could not pretend like he wasn't expecting such a reply- he was hard to love. Enjolras could claim otherwise, but Grantaire was smarter than that and could clearly see the opposite was true. "You can't?"

"I can't change the way that I feel and it would be a lie to say I do when I simply do not." Enjolras found himself saying as sincerely as possible without coming close to cruel. He wanted nothing more than to feel the same way, but his soul refused to cooperate. As it so often did. "I'm so sorry, Grantaire, so desperately sorry, but I cannot help it. If I could love you, I would have said so lifetimes ago."

"It's such an impossible task?" Grantaire muttered to himself, wishing that he had a stronger drink, though he had not been so intoxicated in many months. He missed the clear fog that would fill his head, and considered what he would drink when he was no longer in front of Enjolras, no longer on display to appear as close to perfect as he could manage. "I cannot love anyone else."

"It would be a disaster if we promised ourselves to each other. We'd be miserable, and we both know it. We both have such quick tempers. How quickly men revert back to who they once were at the slightest misfortune- Grantaire, I could never accept being the reason you relapse into the man you were. I could not live with that."

"If you loved me, Apollo, I would be a perfect saint."

"But I can't- I've tried it and failed."

"You're afraid of being happy. You're afraid that you could be happy with me and without making a name for yourself, without changing the world in some grand way. Changing my world and being my world is not enough for you," it was a desperate plea, but Grantaire was a desperate man. "Apollo, say you will, and let's be happy."

"I cannot say 'yes' truly, so I will not say it at all," Enjolras said, reserved and turning away. "You will see that I'm right, eventually, and you may thank me for it yet."

"I'd sooner be shot."

"You'll find some lovely accomplished girl, who will adore you, and make a fine mistress wherever you end up. " Enjolras is certain, or at least feigns certainty. He says the words in an effort to convince both Grantaire and himself of an impossible truth neither of them truly believe. "You would be ashamed of me and we would quarrel. Look, we can't help it even now! I would hate your scribbles and you'd hate my speeches and we would be unhappy and we'd wish we hadn't done it and everything will be horrid." 

Grantaire did not say anything for a long moment. He did not look at Enjolras. He stared ahead. The celebration below them, across the field, did not seem so happy. 

"Anything more?" He spoke softly, in a tone that Enjolras had never heard before.

"Nothing more- except," Enjolras always had something else to say. "except that I don't believe I will ever devote myself to another person. I am happy as I am and love my liberty too well to be in any hurry to give it up. And my country."

Grantaire exhaled, scoffing. "You will care for somebody. You'll love them tremendously and that love will consume you and you will live and you will die for them. I know you will. It is your way. You will and I will watch."

Grantaire stood. He had nothing more to say. He left.

"Patria." Enjolras said softly to himself, and laid back on the grass, alone, where it seemed he would remain forever.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading please give me prompts i am begging i will write anything


End file.
